The Unsung
by overwhelminglysimple
Summary: Hermione uncovers a secret that could bring about the end of war. However, to take advantage of this opportunity, she must place her trust in a depraved soul. The decision weighs heavy; as the consequences could prove fatal for all those she loves. D/Hr
1. Obliviate

Disclaimer:

I own nothing but the plot this story sits upon.

Thanks to JKR for the amazing world of Harry Potter

A/N

I'll do my best to update this story, I know where it's all going, so it's just a case of filling in the blanks now.

Also, huge thanks to a great beta Ser Serendipity

Hope you all enjoy!

Obliviate 

It was a Sunday; the second Sunday before Hogwarts opened its doors for Hermione's seventh, and final, year.

The familiar scent of roast chicken, potatoes, and veg was drifting through her home; a four storey townhouse in the bustling village of Thatcham Heath. Muted laughter and the quiet hum of television met her ears, greeted with a small smile. Downstairs, her parents were watching Grand Designs, a favorite of theirs. The sound of their voices, commenting on the newest building revelation, was a balm to her fraught nerves, as only a parent's voice could be.

The evening had been rather typical of a Sunday at the Granger residence. At around four they had over-indulged in a delicious roast dinner, followed by a leisurely walk in the woods a few miles from her home. The pattern had been introduced when she was a child, and she found comfort in its predictable and relaxed rhythm.

She was sitting at the top of the main staircase: it was something of a regular haunt. As a child, when scared or lonely at night, she had crept to this spot to be lulled by her parent's voices and the glow from the fireplace below. It was affording her the same luxury now.

If only it were enough to chase her demons away.

Her hands cramping from peeling vegetables the muggle way, Hermione gripped her wand in whitening hands. It was tucked snug under her cream, cable knit jumper, which was bulky enough to hide its telltale shape. It wasn't to be seen tonight.

The Grangers were not an intolerant family, quite the opposite; her parents often encouraged her to use magic (since she'd come of age). They had passed many a balmy evening watching her - wine in hand and wand in the other - refining her charms, enchantments, and jinxes.

Their garden, protected by wards against muggles and wizards alike, had played host to a display of fantastic magical talent over the past few months, and her skill was increasing. The relaxed and peaceful summer that passed had allowed her to feel as close to normal as she had since the beginning of the war.

In a way, it was a farewell; a final burst of sunshine before the coming storm. It was time to evacuate the threatened areas, and she was about to take a step that frightened her more than anything she had known.

Her parents, safe in their muggle world, had become a haven to flee to, should the wizarding world become too much.

Malfoy tormenting her? Mother would simply rebuild her shattered confidence, and speak of the perils of teenaged boys.

A fall out with Harry and Ron? A nightly call to her muggle friends had kept a (small) smile on her tear-stained face.

Received an Exceeds Expectations in Defence Against the Dark Arts? Father helped boost her bruised ego, ultimately praising the astonishing witch she had become.

However, she was grown now, and losing the comfort her parents offered for the sake of their safety was something she had fought hard to come to terms with.

Fear and self-doubt seeped into her mind as she silently stood and began to descend, each stair bringing her closer to a decision she had already made.

At the entrance to the living room she paused, and gathered her wits about her. Drew herself to her full height; a mere five foot, three inches. A long breath in propelled her forward: she came to a stop behind the sofa on which her parents were snuggled.

Both were clad in comfortable pajamas and slippers. Each held a small glass of Pinot. Their good-natured bickering reached her brain as if they were moving through molasses, the weight of her soon-to-be-actions slowing her thoughts. They were debating the 'controversial' use of straw insulation over the more typical synthetic. Hermione admired their well-structured arguments: her mother's teasing, long-suffering tone, and the way their hands were causally linked between them.

A wave of nostalgia and guilt threatened her resolve, and her wand, now grasped tightly in her hand, shook with the power of her conviction.

Steeling herself, she forced herself to lean between the two, and quickly plant a kiss on each of their cheeks.

"I love you, mum, dad," she whispered, smiling through glistening tears. They turned toward her simultaneously, sporting surprised, gentle expressions. Before either could open their mouths, she lifted her wand.

"Obliviate."

* * *

Thursday morning, and the sun was shining brightly in what was widely considered a particularly pleasant Indian summer.

A mere three days stood between Hermione and the comfort of Hogwarts; a stark contrast to her busy, damp and dreary stays at Grimmauld Place. She had been awoken that morning by an irate Mrs. Weasley, ordering her and Ginny to Diagon Alley, where they would be met by Ron, Harry and the twins.

Her spirits high for the first time since the previous Sunday, Hermione rushed Ginny along, who was taking her time with glamor and concealment charms. The younger girl's clothes were still lying out on the bed, and she was still in her fluffy dressing gown.

Having taken only ten minutes to get ready, Hermione had managed a low bun, messy with escaped curls, and knotty to boot. She had thrown on a pair of jeans and a navy jumper before calling it quits. Her expectations were low when appearances were involved.

"Ginny, you look stunning as is," she said, tapping the toe of her brogues against the polished, wooden floor. It made a rather satisfying sound.

"I need not remind you that Harry hasn't seen you in a month, you could be wearing a potato sack and he wouldn't notice - he's going to be blown away by you all over again." Her tone was gentle, but firm, she didn't think Ginny needed much encouragement.

Ginny sniffed slightly, the only noise she had made since they had both been awoken. Moving to stand behind her, Hermione rested her hands on the young witch's shoulders. In the ornate dresser mirror before them she could see Ginny's eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, her cheeks tear stained.

"Oh, Gin," she signed, spinning the dressing chair Ginny was sitting on around to face her, "You can't work yourself up about this, Harry is awful at dealing with emotional girls." Raising her wand, she muttered some glamor charms.

"Now, get dressed and meet me downstairs, I'm going to make us a cup of tea and we're going to talk this out before we go anywhere."

Ginny offered her a watery smile, and nodded, turning back to the dressing table mirror. "I'll be down in a bit," she said, meeting Hermione's eyes in the reflection.

"Okay," Hermione replied, walking to the door, "I'll be sending Kreacher up if you're not there in ten minutes."

Ginny gave a mock shudder, smiling as Hermione pulled the door shut behind her.

Hermione and Ginny's room was on the first floor, and as she made her way across the landing, she could her the shuffle of many feet above her, going about their morning routines. The house was rather full at present; Molly and Arthur were permanent residents and they were currently playing host to Remus, Tonks, Neville and Seamus.

Her two classmates had joined them a few days after Hermione arrived, both clamoring to start the term and be done with sitting at home doing nothing.

Entering the kitchen, Hermione noted, with relief, that she was the first one down for breakfast - a meal that could prove testing to her short morning-temper. The rabble was something she could enjoy after a cup of coffee, but not before, and she set to work making two mugs, the muggle way.

The kettle had boiled, and Hermione was stirring the two coffees by the time Ginny entered, looking, at least in Hermione's eyes, gorgeous, in a cream swing dress.

"Perfect," Hermione smiled as she sat down, "Harry won't know what hit him."

Ginny bowed her head with a small smile, not entirely uncomfortable with the compliment. She gratefully took the offered cup from Hermione's hand and drew a long sip. She sank into the seat opposite Hermione and waited for the older girl to start the conversation; she had no idea where to begin.

"Now explain to me why the prospect of seeing Harry is making you act exactly like you did when he first left," Hermione said, her tone soft and her cup lifting to her full lips.

Ginny paused, seeming to consider her reply. Her teeth were working furiously at her lower lip, and Hermione scrunched her nose as she realised it was sore and chapped from constant abuse. She should have brought this up long ago.

"I don't know, really," she began, truthfully, "I mean, I think I was a bit shocked - in all the time he's been away, I've had four letters from Harry, and suddenly I'm being woken up with the order to go and see him this afternoon." Ginny's tone had taken on a slight whine.

"I love Harry, and I do understand why he wants to keep our distance from one another at this point, I'm his vulnerable spot, as he puts it." She paused, and sighed.

"But I'm just so tired of pretending it's okay that we're apart. When he explained his reasons, I imagined he'd be doing something much more courageous than taking a summer holiday with Charlie, not even in this country!" Letting her head drop into her hands, Ginny closed her eyes. "And I feel awful for saying, or even thinking it, but I do wonder what they've been doing over there, whether he's even missed me at all."

Hermione smiled a little, and took Ginny's hand across the large wooden table.

"Listen, Harry always has his reasons. Sure, he's impulsive and a little reckless at times, but when it comes to long term plans, he knows what he's doing." Hermione lifted Ginny's chin with a delicate finger, meeting her gaze with an open and frank expression. "Give him the benefit of the doubt just this once, and give him the chance to explain himself. Just hear him out."

Ginny let out a long breath and nodded, "Yes, Hermione," she said, her tone low, and a perfect imitation of Ron when he was being told off. Laughing, Hermione swatted her on the arm and shook her head.

"Now if you don't mind, we're going to be pretty late, and I don't intend on turning up to Hogwarts without all the assigned textbooks." So saying, she took another long sip from her coffee, reluctantly poured the remainder down the sink, and cheered herself with the thought of buying another in Diagon Alley. Reading herself to leave, she grabbed a handful of floo powder, along with her traveling cloak.

She heard a snort behind her, "As if you haven't had this year's textbooks since year three, working ahead." Ginny smiled, watching as Hermione took her position in the fireplace.

Shrugging, and with a small smile of amusement, Hermione dropped the powder.

"Diagon Alley!"

* * *

Three hours later saw Hermione perusing the back rooms of Flourish and Blotts, combing for any books she thought might help in the coming school year, academically or otherwise.

Hermione was wandering the back rooms of Flourish and Blotts. She had already met with Fred and George, who had left her to her own devices after realizing she was planning to spend a significant amount of time just browsing. They had asked her to meet at The Leaky Cauldron at five o'clock since Harry and Ron were running late, which left her with little over two hours. So far she had purchased all items on her list, found a small toy for Crookshanks, and withdrawn enough money from Gringotts to last the year.

The bookstore was a gloomy place at the best of times, and back in the unused rooms, it was downright dark. Any light shed from the numerous candles around the room was instantly blocked by the tall, imposing shelves that ran in untidy rows and corridors. It was amazing just how much shop there was behind the Flourish and Blotts facade, she thought as she blew away a cobweb from a particularly old-looking book. The wooden floorboards creaked and moaned with every delicate step she took; the sound was muffled and lost in the tomes around her.

Hermione was passing through the foreign curses section when she spotted a red, leather-bound book entitled 'Salazar's Secrets; Serpents, Sires and Seduction'. Her interest piqued, she made her way towards it; it was a few rows across from her.

Rounding the corner, Hermione suddenly felt a small shiver travel up her spine, and the temperature in the room drop by several degrees. Swiftly, she grasped her wand, quick to embrace her alert state.

"Homenum Revelio," she whispered.

Several seconds passed, with no noticeable change. The floor creaked again.

Hermione loosened her defensive pose a little. The war had sharpened her nerves, and often she was left feeling shaken after nothing more than a cold breeze or a startling telephone ring.

Suddenly, a loud gasp was ripped from her throat as the tip of a wand was pressed firmly into the back of her neck. Just as quickly, it was taken away, and she spun to see a heavy black cloak swirl around the corner from which she'd just come. Steeling herself, she peered around the corner, wand raised and ready to attack.

Nothing.

A sigh of relief escaped through her lips, and the imagined scenario of Death Eaters surrounding her was wiped from her mind. Damn her overactive imagination.

The fact that she had just been held at wandpoint, nevermind that it was for a short amount of time, worried her. The wand clutched tightly in her fist was not lowered, and she backed up a few paces toward the exit, her eyes roving around the room for any sign of her potential attacker.

Once she had reached the safety of Diagon Alley unharmed, she turned and hurried toward The Leaky Cauldron. The street was bustling with pre-term shoppers, and the loud babble of excited children and exacerbated parents was beginning to make her head hurt. Pushing her way through the crowd, she kept her eyes peeled for any sign of the twins, Harry or Ron.

Finally drawing to the entrance to the old pub, Hermione sighed quietly, letting herself relax as she stepped over the threshold. The overwhelming smell of pea soup hit her nostrils, and she scrunched her nose slightly; perhaps Florean Fortescue's would have been better meeting place.

The pub was dimly lit, as always, and the light straining to shine through the small windows was contesting with decades of grime and soot. The majority of tables, all different shapes and sizes, were full, and the general hubbub of chatter was at a low hum. Making her way to the bar, she smiled at Tom, who recognized her instantly.

"Good day, Miss Granger," he drawled, bald head glistening in the flickering candlelight, "what may I do you for this afternoon?"

Hermione held back a shudder as he hocked back, and spat into the glass he was 'cleaning'.

"Urm," wondering whether to give up and tell the boys to meet her at the ice cream parlor, Hermione cleared her throat. "I'll just have a Butterbeer, please, Tom".

Her eyes wandered to the back of the room, searching for a spare, private table. She wanted someplace quiet to sit, and to get her mind in order.

A hand grabbing her shoulder startled her from the hunt, and she spun around, an affronted 'hey' on her lips.

"He- Harry!" She exclaimed, as she realized who it was, "It's so good to see you!"

The sight of her two friends, deeply tanned and rugged-looking, brought her close to tears, her fraught nerves quickly calmed. She felt as if a part of her had been replaced, since being ripped away by the departure of her parents.

Hermione threw her arms around Harry, who was taller and leaner than she remembered him. His tangle of hair was still very much the same, however, and she laughed at his bungled attempts at fixing his glasses - clearly he had resorted to muggle techniques, as they were practically all Sellotape.

Harry squeezed her small frame against his much larger one until she beat her fists against his broad shoulders. Finally, laughing, he let her go.

Looking thoroughly rumpled, Hermione shot Harry a mock glare, completely negated by her hand finding his, and turned to Ron. Standing awkwardly behind Harry, Ron had also changed since she had last seen him. Now standing a full head and shoulders above her, his previously gangly frame had filled out substantially.

Hermione's eyebrows rose in spite of herself.

"Hey, Ron," she said, smiling up at him.

"Hey," he replied, in a deep baritone, "It's really good to see you, 'Mione. I -" He paused and scratched the back of his neck, a red blush creeping up his face,

"_We_ missed you loa-" The wind was knocked out of him as Hermione pulled him into a fierce hug. His arms immediately wrapped around her and she felt his head rest atop hers. She hugged him as closely as Harry had her, and by the time she drew away, a tear had escaped her dark lashes.

"Come on," she mumbled, brushing the tear away impatiently, "I think we all could use a drink"


	2. Avada Kedavra

Disclaimer

All this belongs to JKR; the one and only.

A/N

Not sure how I feel about writing as Draco, it's beyond my comfort zone, so any comments would help

Also, cheers to Ser Serendipity for beta'ing (or really, bettering) my story

Avada Kedavra

It was the night Draco was to earn his robes.

The night he had fantasized about for the last two years.

The night that would change his life forever.

For better or for worse.

The night began with a routine meet. Death Eaters arrived at the manor in their droves; their number had tripled since the Ministry had fallen. At a common (though certainly not for Draco ) meeting such as this, the crowd filled the cavernous room from wall to wall; an impressive and chilling sight.

Tonight, the meeting was to be held in the former dining room, although it was almost unrecognizable as such in it's current state. The once splendid room had been reduced to a shell of it's former grandeur, the imprint of dark magic of the worst kind was etched into every torn drape and broken statue.

At fifty feet long, the room had oft been hailed as something close to the heart of the house. Formerly brilliant gilded covings, ornate ceilings, and intricate tapestries now created an eerie backdrop of flawed glamour. With darkness only penetrated by the dull flicker of a dozen candles, shadows were thrown up onto the walls, illuminating the eyes of portraits that appeared to look down on the activities with foreboding.

The change had occurred slowly, as far as Draco could tell. There wasn't a single moment he could confidently say the manor had been transformed from the most eminent wizarding dwelling in Britain to the most abused. Slowly, the grandeur of the house had been bent to serve a more sinister purpose. No longer impressing guests and boasting wealth, it now served to mirror the power and scale of the Dark Lord and his following.

The change didn't bother Draco as much as it did his mother and father. In the early days of the war, Draco had heard them discussing their plans to protect the grand building from ruin, something that Draco considered a waste of effort. He understood the importance of intimidation and appearances, but what could be more intimidating than the residence of the world's most feared wizard?

Draco had watched as Death Eaters overran his home, and he had begun to understand that many of those currently residing in the manor were unaccustomed to such decadence.

The house elves had previously been running a tight ship, keeping the entire manor in top condition. However, with the addition of new guests, their duties had taken a darker turn, and the first spike of doubt had surprised Draco. Watching the small creatures, often the only company he held as a boy, as they were abused and demeaned earned Draco many a sleepless night.

The house elves were currently tucked out of sight, likely downstairs preparing for the feast immediately preceding any meet. The dining room was filling to capacity now, and the elves would have their work cut out feeding the revelers.

At the end of the hall, Draco took his place atop a specially designed podium, which afforded The Dark Lord the ability to control the potential recruit entirely, much like the Imperius curse. From this position Draco could watch the movements of almost everyone in the room. The spot offered the luxury of being unobserved for a small amount of time, whilst everyone took their places.

Of course, the congregation were in full Death Eater get-up, complete with floor length robes and full masks, which made hard work of recognising people, even those he had known all his life. His father was stood in the centre of the hall, something Draco only knew because he had entered with him, before making his way up to his designated podium.

His father stood at an impressive height. His hood had been pulled to cover his illustrious white blonde hair, and his pose was one of tense preparation - straight backed, and grasping his wand tightly.

Draco took strength from his father as the amount of attention focused upon him grew.

The Dark Lord was only moments away, and the anticipation in the room grew, even as the volume decreased, eventually sweeping the crowd into an eerie silence.

The hair on Draco's skin prickled, a tense pressure boring into the back of his neck as he waited The Dark Lord's entrance.

_This was his opportunity to prove his worth. _

_No longer would he stand in his father's shadow, as the child, the boy, the nuisance. _

_Tonight, he would become a man._

The loud crack of apparition startled Draco out of his musings, bringing him to stand ramrod straight, eyes glued to the entrance of the hall.

Two heavy oak doors swung inward, creaking loudly in the packed

room and echoing around the derelict interior.

Wormtail entered first; scampering into the room in his bowed and trembling gait. Following him was Bellatrix Lestrange; head held high, sneering down her pointed nose at all those surrounding them.

Finally Voldemort entered, and the cold oppression of death bore down upon all present.

Bowing and scraping, Death Eaters on either side of the trio swept out of the way, forming a path that led directly to the podiums. Draco could faintly hear the many whispered platitudes and fealties as Voldemort passed, his snake like eyes fixed squarely upon the top of the room, where Malfoy was joined by his six fellow recruits.

The Dark Lord stopped before them, and the congregation swarmed to fill the empty path he had created. Draco lost his father among the crowd.

Swallowing his panic, he focused his eyes upon the form of Bellatrix Lestrange, hoping to calm his nerves by mentally listing all the rumours he had heard about her from various Death Eaters.

Voldemort drew his cloak around him in a movement almost effeminate in it's grace. His heavy gaze landed upon each of the recruits in turn, all of whom visibly shrank away as his mind attacked theirs in a ferocious, yet invisible, attack.

Four recruits stood between Draco and the invasion of his thoughts, and he could feel his usually cool, dry skin begin to prickle with hot beads of sweat.

He concentrated on his recital.

_She sleeps in a bed covered in blood - it's never been washed of the grime._

_She hasn't taken a shower or bath in over eleven years._

Voldemort was now two recruits down, and the nervous pants of breath Draco could hear beside him was wearing down his patience.

_Her favorite torture method is a curse that slowly stretches the prisoner until all their joints _pop _out of their sockets._

Draco winced; he hadn't meant to be quite so graphic, and now he was picturing muggles screaming in agony as their limbs were stretched and popped and disfigured.

Slowly.

The image was burning into his mind and he squeezed his eyes shut to try to block it out.

Suddenly a lancing pain behind his forehead forced his eyes open, where he found himself staring into The Dark Lord's amused expression.

A throaty chuckle escaped The Dark Lord's grey, taught lips and he turned with a flourish to face the awaiting crowd, his cloak billowing as he spread his arms wide.

"Imagining muggles ripped limb from limb!" he exclaimed, somehow projecting his weak sounding voice to the very furthest Death Eater in the room.

"I think young Draco here could rival the most depraved of you!"

A confused cheer rose from the crowd as the Death Eaters attempted to figure what was expected of them.

Voldemort turned to Bellatrix and extended a grey, spindled hand.

Eagerly placing her hand atop his, Bellatrix took the position in front the Dark Lord, her wild eyes staring lovingly into his.

"My lord?" she whispered reverently, bowing her head in servitude.

"I think Draco would make a fine addition to our ranks, don't you agree, Bella?" The sibilant voice _hissed_, drawing Draco's aunt's name out into something entirely unlike itself .

Bellatrix nodded her head eagerly, her pink tongue darting out to wet her dry, gray lips.

"Yes, my lord; I do, my lord," she agreed, glancing over the Dark Lord's shoulder to Draco, who was standing straight, attempting to keep the shock off his pale face.

Voldemort smiled, and Bellatrix stood transfixed.

"Would you like an apprentice, Bella?" he almost purred.

"Oh, my lord!" Bellatrix sighed, dropping to her knees. She bowed her head and kissed each of Voldemort's swollen knuckles. "My lord's mercy knows no bounds"

Voldemort chuckled again, motioning for her to stand, before waving her away.

"Tonight," Voldemort addressed the crowd once more, "Tonight we will test our new recruits. Tonight we shall see if they are ready to join our ranks. Join me!"

The world went black.

* * *

Draco Malfoy stood before the revelers, his upper half bare and shivering against the cold.

With deafening winds and near pitch darkness surrounding him, Draco's senses were narrowed to touch, smell and taste.

He could feel the sting of the bitter wind against his exposed flesh.

He could smell the sweat of the new recruits standing beside him.

He could taste the metallic tang of blood within his mouth.

Head pounding, and his body not responding to instructions, Draco attempted to work out what was going on. He had been in the dining hall, surrounded by Death Eaters and ... _oh. _His induction.

Draco's stomach muscles tightened, until his pale torso resembled a statue of a Greek god. Bile rose in his throat, and he struggled to keep his panic from taking over.

Taking deep breaths, he was able to banish the feeling of despair that washed over him at the thought of his upcoming trials, and solidify it into determination.

He was determined he would live up to the Malfoy name, determined he would not let his father down.

Before he was able to fully compose himself, however, a piercing wail cut through the air, hitting his eardrums with the intensity of a blast.

Barely able to keep the answering cry of surprise and confusion from leaping from his throat, Draco whipped his head from side to side, fruitlessly attempting to source the splitting noise in the pitch darkness. His white-blonde hair hung in his face, damp with perspiration, once he realised he wasn't able to see a thing.

Helplessness clawed at his insides, burning like Fiendfyre as he assessed his situation through a haze of panic.

He needed his wand.

With a surge of wandless and non verbal magic, Draco summoned his wand to him, feeling the rush of magic flare in his veins.

Nothing.

He felt cheated and alone. Never had he been without his wand, and to be so now, in this situation had him particularly agitated.

In a quick spark of genius, he lifted his head.

"Tots!" He called, his voice rough.

Draco waited several seconds before the _pop_ of apparition signaled the arrival of his favourite house elf.

Draco sighed in relief, "Tots," he whispered this time, "I need my wand. Find and retrieve my wand."

Draco was unable to tell if the house elf had heard him. For several seconds, the darkness around him pressed deeper into his psyche. Then, the second _pop_ signaled the departure of his only hope. He just prayed this wasn't seen as a slight to the rules of The Dark Lord.

After only a few more seconds, Draco heard the unmistakable _pop _once again, and felt the cold hard wood of his wand press into his palm.

"Thank you, Tots," he almost gushed, squeezing the tiny hand clutching his wand before quickly unbinding himself. "You should leave now."

Once Draco had heard the elf depart, he muttered a lumos, and held his wand before him, attempting to grasp his surroundings.

The ear splitting screech assaulted his ears once again, and his wince was this time followed by a muttered curse.

"Homenum Revelio" he whispered, squinting into the darkness.

His wand span rapidly in his outstretched palm, eventually coming to rest in a north-westerly point. Cautiously, Draco took a few steps forward, testing the ground as he did.

Without warning, a bolt of red flashed toward him.

Instincts honed by years of dueling competitively had his arm snapping his wand before him, milliseconds before the spell rebounded off his shield.

Alert, Draco sent a tentative curse toward the unknown assailant, unable to tell if it had made contact in the pitch dark.

Pulse quickened, Draco was more sure-footed as he continued in the direction his wand had pointed him.

Suddenly several bolts of light flew at him, none of which meeting their mark, but all coming from different directions. Draco cursed; how were they able to see him? His answer came in an embarrassed huff.

"Oscuro Videra." His vision blurred and refocused to reveal the outlines of a dozen robes figures around twenty paces away. With a smirk, Draco lifted his wand and sent stunning jinxes at each of them.

Hearing at least two shouts of surprise, Draco laughed quietly as over half of the robed wizards were taken down. Aware that Draco was able to see them, the remaining fired spells down upon him, forcing Draco to throw a shield around his entire being. The spell was not maintainable, however, and he desperately thought of a possible exit strategy. He assumed apparition was out of the question, but as his shield wavered under the ferocity of the attack, he figured he had nothing to lose.

Draco dove onto the ground, his bare chest covered in sticky mud, and attempted the spell.

The familiar tug around his navel allowed him a brief moment of relief, before his movement was jolted and he was thrown not two feet from where he had been previously.

With a growl of frustration, he crouched down on his haunches and scanned the horizon for his attackers. They were not there. A feeling of deep foreboding settled in the pit of his stomach.

Gathering his wits about him, Draco stood, feeling the harsh wind whip against his damp skin. Shaking his head he looked around.

_Now what?_

Just as he was pondering his next move, Draco was bowled over by a warm body.

The air rushed through his teeth as said warm body fell atop him.

Shouting and screaming, beating her hands against any exposed part of Draco she could find, sat a woman.

A woman of around twenty three. Hair tangled, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth and clothes torn, she was frantically attempting to disentangle herself from him whilst maintaining her pitiful attack.

"Woah, lady" Draco exclaimed, grabbing her fragile wrists and holding them away from his face. "Who are you?"

It was a stupid question, and he immediately regretted it as she flung herself into his arms, wracked with sobs. Grimacing, he pushed her away and climbed to his feet.

"Not who are you, you stupid bint," he reiterated, with malice, "What the fuck is your problem?" He emphasized his question with a kick to her ribs, nudging her forcibly into a position in which he could see her face.

"There are men ..." she began, her voice trembling with fear and upset, "_so many men."_

Draco's brows rose. He understood.

Without preamble he lifted his wand.

He knew what was expected of him.

The shriek that had risen on the woman's lips died, and she held her hands before her in a futile attempt to shield herself from his wand.

"Avada Kedavra!"

* * *

The frenzy surrounding him built until his heartbeat was at one with the chants of the crowd.

He lifted his left arm straight to the blackened sky.

With unrelenting speed, pain seared across his forearm. White heat spread through his body, with an intense, burning centre focused at the point at which his dark mark was created.

The patch of skin on his forearm, previously unblemished, seemed to bubble and twist, forming grotesque scars that reached from his wrist to his inner elbow.

Before the skin became still, jet-black ink seeped from within his arm, to reach the surface. The tattooed skin looking angry and sore beneath the notorious image.

Now, he was branded.


	3. Silencio

Disclaimer

For this magical world and the entirety of Harry Potter - thanks to JKR

A/N

Apologies for the (huge) delay, guys; the work I was procrastinating from caught up with me.

And again, thank you to Ser Serendipity, still happy to point out my mistakes

;)

Silencio

The Hogwarts Express stood gleaming, bellowing thick steam into the cavernous structure of Kings Cross Station.

As Hermione admired it, standing amidst the student population, all clamouring to say their farewells and depart around her, the low rumble of the engines calmed her fraught nerves.

It was a familiar sound, and the additional chatter of peers, clatter of trolleys, and screech of owls struck a chord of nostalgia as she realised this was to be her final year at Hogwarts.

Slowly bringing herself out of her thoughts as the noise around her began to increase, Hermione turned to find Ron and Harry with similar expressions on their faces. A small smile graced her lips and she reached to grab their hands.

"Come on you two," she smiled, pulling them towards the train, "I want to find an empty compartment, and you know that's impossible if you leave it too late."

Harry nodded a response, taking Ginny's hand and waving to Molly Weasley, who had previously crushed him and Hermione in one of her famous hugs. She was currently tending to a small first year that had managed to lose his parents among the crowd.

"Stay safe, you four!" she called as she saw them depart, waving a yellow lace handkerchief before using it to dab away her tears.

Ron stood a second longer looking at the train, a frown on his face.

"We might not go back, you know," he said forlornly as he turned to Hermione and followed her to the nearest carriage door.

"What do you mean?" she asked, pausing briefly and allowing Harry and Ginny to continue ahead. She turned to face the redhead, who had a half smirk on his face. To anyone else, the expression would look nonchalant, but after years of close friendship, she had learnt to spot the pain he was trying to mask.

"What is it, Ron?" she asked more quietly, taking a step toward him and placing her hand on his arm.

He shrugged and looked away, his expression now clearly troubled.

"I'm just worried, 'Mione. I'm worried about mum and dad and Gin, and I'm worried about Harry and Hogwarts and all these kids, who have _no idea_…"

Hermione frowned; this wasn't like Ron.

"And I'm worried about you. Probably most of all. And what this could mean for -"

His eyes flicked to her face, and she found herself under his now intense gaze.

"Mean for what, Ron?" she gently prompted, squeezing his arm.

The piercing whistle of departure interrupted his next words, and as quickly as he had shown her his fear; he hid it.

"Nothing, 'Mione," he shrugged, guiding her onto the train and leading her down the corridor to look for Harry and Ginny, "It's nothing."

* * *

An hour later Hermione found herself sitting in the prefect's carriage, dressed in her robes, and holding a conversation with Horace Slughorn.

"So you see, Miss Granger," he summarised, in his baritone voice that wobbled along with his double – nay, triple- chin, "the letter was returned unopened, a first in Hogwarts history, if my facts are correct."

Despite feeling a whirl of conflicting emotions, Hermione still felt her mouth move in an automatic correction.

"In fact, sir, according to Hogwarts: A History, letters were frequently sent back unopened during the fourteenth century, when students and professors alike were under threat of muggle persecution. I suspect I placed a ward around my parent's home during the summer that foiled the owl's attempt at delivering my letter, I have been experimenting..."

She trailed off, her voice shaking with suppressed emotion, and her eyes beginning to mist over.

Her mum and dad would be so proud.

A faint flush crept up Slughorn's neck, and he looked around at the prefects talking among themselves, his expression almost helpless.

Sensing his discomfort, Hermione shook her head and drew herself out of her thoughts.

"Thank you, sir," she started, her voice sounding stronger, "It's an honour, I won't let Hogwarts down."

Slughorn's expression brightened.

"That's more like it, Miss Granger," he grinned, "I can't think of a more deserving student. Now if you don't mind, I must make an appearance at The Slug Club before we arrive. Would you care to join me?"

Hermione blanched at the idea of sitting among students fawning over the awkward man before her, and shook her head quickly.

At Slughorn's mildly affronted, confused expression, she hastily amended.

"I think I just need a little time to digest this information, professor," she said, smiling gently and lowering her head, "It's such a huge achievement."

Mollified, Slughorn nodded and placed a pudgy hand on her shoulder, "We were all in agreement when the decision was made, Miss Granger. We're sure you'll excel in every challenge you may face."

So saying, he turned to address the prefects.

"I believe you all know now that Miss Granger is the new Head Girl."

Hermione's breath caught in her throat as he pronounced this.

This had been her ambition for the last four years.

"And as Mister Nott as Head Boy, I expect you are all in very capable hands. Should you have any problems, they will be your first port of call. Have a nice welcome feast."

The room was quieter when Slughorn left, conversations starting up slowly after his interruption.

Hermione, standing removed from the others, as Slughorn had left her, felt her emotions clamour down upon her once again.

Closing her eyes, she sighed softly, and made her way to sit down.

Before she could, however, Theodore Nott stepped in front of her, a smile on his lips.

"Granger," he greeted, with a nod.

"Nott," Hermione replied, her tone cold.

An awkward silence stretched between them before an exaggeratedly large sigh from the tall boy had her looking up at him, a little confused.

He shook his head.

"I'm not in the business of apologies, Granger," he started, "But I want us to work well this year, I won't forfeit my position for some rivalry between our houses, or because our respective friends can't see eye to eye."

Opening her mouth to interject, Hermione was silenced when Nott raised his hand.

"With this in mind, I would like to propose a truce. I would rather just get along."

After a second, once she was sure he was done, Hermione nodded.

"I understand and agree." she said, holding out her hand.

Shaking her outstretched hand, Nott smiled, "S'abit formal, don't you think?" he mused.

"You strike me as a formal kind of guy, Nott," she replied, shrugging and walking to the seat she had been about to sit down on when he had interrupted.

Sitting beside her, he leant back, looking at the prefects in the carriage.

"Think we'll have any trouble on our hands with this lot?" he asked, his eyes scanning the twenty-four fifth, sixth and seventh years in front of them.

"I'm not sure, but I know we'll all have our work cut out keeping everyone safe this year."

Nott nodded, his expression hardening ever so slightly.

They spent the rest of the journey in an almost companionable silence.

* * *

That night Hermione found herself unable to sleep.

Her new quarters, while impressively plush and comfortable, were just not relaxing her as the Gryffindor's dorms could.

In the back of her mind she was reluctant to admit it had nothing to do with her new living quarters, but all to do with seeing a certain Slytherin after the feast.

Her thoughts began to take seed and expand as sleep crept upon her.

Theodore Nott had been instructing two prefects how to most efficiently direct first years to their dorms, when his voice suddenly halted with an almost unperceivable intake of air.

His eyes were wide, following something over her shoulder.

Slightly alarmed, Hermione had begun to turn, but Nott placed a stilling hand on her shoulder.

He had told her to go ahead to their dormitory without him.

Which, of course, she ignored.

Rolling her eyes and pulling her shoulder from his light grip, she had turned to see the approaching figure of one Draco Malfoy.

* * *

Draco had arrived at Hogwarts in a state of disrepair.

Torn robes, a bloodied cuts, and a quickly swelling eye had him furtively checking around corners before hurrying toward the third floor girl's bathrooms.

This was not how he had imagined his first day at Hogwarts as a full-fledged Death Eater.

Well, he hadn't imagined he'd be returning at all.

It had been an unexpected request from The Dark Lord.

And you didn't question The Dark Lord.

Dear old aunt Bella had inflicted the injuries that currently marred his pale face, in another session of muggle torture.

Of course, the muggles were not the only ones to become injured within these sessions, and of the seven he had so far played witness to, there was only one in which Draco had remained unscathed.

That particular session had been his first foray into inflicting the torture himself, and apparently his capabilities had impressed his twisted aunt.

The screams of the muggles, both young and old, had begun seeping into his dreams, plaguing him with nightmares of the darkest kind.

His aunt had been furious with him when he told her he would be returning to Hogwarts.

The cuts and bruises were nothing compared to the agony he suffered under her Crucio.

But he had made it, and for now he was safe from his aunt's torture.

His mission would be revealed soon, and his excitement in serving The Dark Lord directly almost equaled that of the loathing he had for Bella.

It was worth all the pain and nightmares, for the honor of carrying out a mission he was uniquely able to complete for The Dark Lord.

Wondering if it was late enough to brave the main staircase, Draco quickly scanned his surroundings; most students had been ushered to bed by now. He would warrant a guess that every common room was filled with students catching up with one another, and that above them would be a group of nervous first years attempting to get acquainted with their new accommodation.

Choosing to proceed, he began to make his way deeper into the castle, keeping his head bowed and his posture straight; looking like he was confident that he had permission to be wandering through the corridors.

Hearing a raised voice a way in front of him, he quickly raised his eyes, looking through the locks of white blonde hair that fell past his brow.

He whispered an expletive and ducked behind a tapestry, hoping he hadn't been spotted.

Standing fifty feet before him were Nott and Granger, apparently scolding a pair of fifth years Draco didn't know.

It was typical that of all the corridors in the castle, they would choose this one to stop and moan in.

His breath caught when he heard a familiar voice call his name.

"Draco?" the deep voice rang out, echoing of the cold stone floors and walls of the corridor.

"Draco, I know you're there, mate,"

The voice was closer now and Draco was able to hear the faint footsteps of his housemate drawing closer.

With an angry sigh, Draco pulled the tapestry aside and stepped back into the corridor, his head held high.

"Theo," he greeted, raising his chin as his friend approached.

If he had any sense at all, Theo wouldn't question Draco's state, and would let him proceed without comment.

But Draco knew the boy had little common sense when he refused a position within the Death Eater's ranks over the summer.

Once he reached him, Theo's drawn out stare had Draco inwardly seething. Judgment was clear one the chiseled face of the older boy, and Draco clenched his wand beneath his robes.

"What happened, mate?" Theo asked, his brow furrowing slightly in what Draco presumed was false concern.

A huff was Draco's response, and he raised a single eyebrow.

After a second's pause, Theo shook his head.

"Can I help?" he asked, shrugging and throwing a glance over his shoulder to check that Hermione was waiting where he had left her.

Draco chuckled darkly, shaking his head and stepping closer to Theo.

"If I wanted your help Theo, I'd ask Dumbledore for your services, since it's obvious you work for him now."

Theo's slight frown deepened into a cold look of anger.

"Fuck you, Malfoy," he spat, "I don't work for anybody in this sodding war."

Draco shook his head and pushed past the older boy, proceeding to walk down the corridor.

"It won't last, Nott," he called back, not bothering to turn to address him directly.

"You'll come crawling soon enough."

His mind was quickly replaying what he knew about Theodore Nott, and whether he need be prepared against an attack from the boy over the next year.

No, Theo was an old friend, and although he thought ill of Draco's choices, he knew the sap would never hurt Draco for some misplaced sense of loyalty.

So thinking, Draco looked ahead to the small frame of Granger, standing in front of two fifth years who looked distinctly uncomfortable.

Her hazel eyes caught his attention first, speckled with gold and drawn into a fierce glare. He noted the way she didn't flinch or frown when she saw his condition, but maintained her expression.

His eyes travelled down to her lips, pursed and rosy red, still full even when pulled into a tight knit of dislike.

Her creamy skin contrasted those lips in the bright candlelight of the corridor, and he found himself unwilling to look away.

That was until she stepped forward and planted her feet firmly, her delicate hands on her hips.

"What are you doing, Malfoy?" she asked sternly, her eyes travelling up and down his battered attire, a faint curl of disgust twisting her lips.

Draco raised a single eyebrow, refusing to answer.

Her slight huff of impatience smacked his trademark smirk straight onto his face, an expression he had forgotten he could make. There wasn't much room for smirking between torture and torturing others.

Turning her back to him, Hermione bid the two fifth years return to their house and get some sleep. Not turning to face Draco again until they had disappeared round a corner.

"We're taking you to Snape, Malfoy," she said resolutely, folding her arms across her chest.

"You weren't on the Hogwarts Express, you weren't at the welcome feast and you're in no state to return to your common room. I expect he'll tell you to take a trip to Madam Pomfrey."

Draco shook his head,

"I'm not going to Snape, Granger," he said, his voice low, "I'm capable of cleaning myself up, and the rest is none of your business."

Hermione quirked an eyebrow in a strikingly similar expression to his, and tapped her foot against the flagstones, "You really don't have a choice, Malfoy," she said in a superior tone.

Draco heard Theo's footsteps behind him and after turning to glare at him, realised both he and Granger were wearing head badges.

Inwardly he groaned; he couldn't refuse without resorting to magic, and he didn't like the idea of facing both of them at the same time.

Shrugging, he brushed past Granger.

"Will you be following me then, mudblood?" he asked, his casual use of the term bringing a tinge of angry red to Granger's cheeks.

He chuckled. "Need to get used to that, mudblood, you'll realise your place soon enough".

He rolled his eyes as he felt the sharp tip of her wand pressed threateningly against the back of his neck.

"An unprovoked attack on the first night, Granger?" he asked, "perhaps they chose the wrong mudblood to be head, I've heard you only won out over Padma Patil because you had a sob story; you were born to _muggles_. How very touching. Your childhood must have been _unbearable_… though not as wretched as living as a mudblood among purebloods, where you know what you are, and how little you're worth"

Draco could feel the pressure of the wand increase against his neck, the tip warming with suppressed rage.

"Shut up, Draco," he heard Nott suggest from behind them, "And Granger, unless you want to be stripped of your headship, I think you should lower your wand."

Draco felt the pressure disappear and smirked, "That's right, Granger," he taunted, willing her to embrace her anger, "listen to your superiors like a good little mudbl-"

"_Silencio_."

Draco stopped walking, turning to stare accusingly at Theo.

He couldn't speak, but he hardly needed to. His face said everything anyone would need to know.

'_What the fuck, Theo?'_

Shrugging, Theo walked ahead, "You were boring me," he muttered.

Smiling smugly, Granger motioned for Draco to walk ahead.


End file.
